Haven
by ElsaF
Summary: Everyone needs a bit of respite now and then
1. Part 1

Haven, Part 1  
  
By ElsaF  
  
  
  
The road screams beneath his wheels. The engine roars between his legs. Faster. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.  
  
The broken white line merges into a continuous stripe out ahead to the horizon. The empty dessert spreads out to either side. The wind rips at his clothing and hair, and dries his eyes. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.  
  
A faint, pearly blush spreads up over the eastern horizon. Find shelter. Who the hell cares? Let the sun come. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.  
  
Then, when the world is changing from black to blue-gray, he sees it up ahead. Low buildings. Four corners. A motel on one side of the highway, a gas station on the other. A cafe. A couple of houses set back from the road. Then just before he arrives, a sign: Haven, Calif. Population 14. Someone's idea of a joke. Must go faster -- no, time to stop and take shelter.  
  
------------------  
  
The motel has seen better days. It says "Heated Pool" on the sign, but the pool is empty, the cement bottom cracked and the garish blue paint peeling off in sheets. There is dust drifting in the corners. The word "Motel" is legible, but not the name. The No-Tell Motel...  
  
The office is dark. The only reason to believe this place is in business is the buzzing neon sign in the window that says "Vacancy." It flickers and sputters. The sun is almost up. He goes inside.  
  
He flips the light switch inside the door.  
  
The clerk is sitting on a stool behind the counter. She's been sitting in the dark. She has dark brown, shoulder-length hair and gray-blue eyes. She's wearing a faded blue UCLA sweatshirt and jeans. He looks at her and knows -- she's like him. And he knows she knows what he is as well.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asks.  
  
"A room," he says.  
  
"No problem. We have rooms."  
  
She points to the register. There's a ballpoint pen next to it on the counter.  
  
"How long will you be staying?" she asks.  
  
"I'll be off tomorrow night."  
  
She nods.  
  
"Room 101. Next door. Put the do not disturb sign on the doorknob."  
  
He nods and takes the key.  
  
"Are you hungry?"  
  
He turns back to the clerk.  
  
"Little late to go hunting, love," he says. "Sun's coming up."  
  
"We don't do that here," she says evenly.  
  
He gives her a puzzled look.  
  
"Population 14," she says with an ironic smile. "Eight vampires and six humans. We don't hunt them, they don't stake us."  
  
"And you don't eat the customers..."  
  
"Bad for business," she says.  
  
There is a small refrigerator behind the counter. She goes to it and takes out a Mason jar of blood and pours him a mug.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"No problem."  
  
He takes the mug and the key and goes to his room to sleep.  
  
----------  
  
He wakes with a start. The dream again. The world drenched in blood. The sobbing. The screams. How long since he's slept without waking up an hour later -- with this dream, no this nightmare, echoing in his head? A month? Six weeks? A movement catches his eye.  
  
She's standing near the window. He can see her silhouette against the curtains. The desk clerk.  
  
"I put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, love."  
  
"Did I disturb you?"  
  
He growls and turns over, pulling the pillow over his head.  
  
She comes over and puts a cool hand on his bare shoulder.  
  
"I can help."  
  
He rolls onto his back.  
  
"What's your name, love?"  
  
"Marielle."  
  
"You want ..." He reaches out for her.  
  
"No."  
  
He's confused. She's sitting on the edge of his bed. Looking at him. What does she want?  
  
"Relax," she says. She puts her hand on his forehead. Cool fingers. Not like ... no, don't remember that.  
  
"You can sleep. The dream won't come back -- today."  
  
"How?" he asks, but he doesn't hear any answer. Sleep enfolds him in dark arms.  
  
------------  
  
He wakes again, but this time gradually. The light filtering in through the curtains has an orange tinge. Sunset. Good timing. He sits up and looks around. He's alone. Marielle has gone. Of course, pillock. She's not going to sit here and watch you lie here like a rock.  
  
Feels good to wake up after sleeping -- really sleeping. How long has it been?  
  
He gets up and dresses. Black jeans, black T-shirt, short black jacket. He feels his pocket. Out of fags. He can get some at the gas station across the highway.  
  
He crosses the road in the gathering dusk. The sky is deep turquoise with rose streaks. The fluorescent lights are on over the pumps and moths are beating themselves against the fixtures. There's a guy working on a beat-up pickup in the garage. He's wearing a vest and ragged jeans, but no shirt. There are tattoos on his shoulders and the top of his shaven head. He stands up and waves a casual greeting. There's a scar that extends from his forehead, across one of his eyes, down his cheek, to the point of his jaw. This guy is a gang-banger. But there are no gangs out here. Only six people and eight vampires.  
  
"Jerry," the mechanic says, extending his hand to shake. "What can I do you for?"  
  
"Cigarettes."  
  
Jerry nods. "Sure. In the office." He wipes his hands on a greasy rag.  
  
"You talked to Richie yet?" Jerry asks as he opens the cabinet where the cigarettes are kept.  
  
"Who's Richie?"  
  
Jerry shrugs.  
  
"Staying for the barbecue tonight?"  
  
"Nah. Gettin' back on the road."  
  
"Too bad. Rosa's barbecue sauce is not to be missed. Why don't you stick around?"  
  
He looks at the mechanic and wonders if he'd be getting this invitation if he had any idea...  
  
"Gotta keep movin'"  
  
"Suit yourself."  
  
He reaches for his wallet, but Jerry the mechanic stops him. "On the house, friend."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
He walks back across the road wondering why a free pack of cigarettes seems so significant.  
  
Marielle is sweeping out the office.  
  
"Hey, Blondie. Sleep well?"  
  
"Yeah, like the dead." He pauses. "Thanks. Don't know what you did, but..."  
  
"No mas."  
  
"I guess I'd better pay up and scarper."  
  
"Nothing to pay."  
  
He frowns. "Why?"  
  
"Don't worry about it. Richie wants to talk to you. Can you stick around a bit?"  
  
"What's this? The Hotel California? You can check out but you can never leave?"  
  
Marielle laughs. "You can go any time you want. But why not stay a little bit? We're having a barbecue tonight. You'll be welcome."  
  
"What is this place? Why does everyone want me to stay?"  
  
"Everyone?"  
  
"The guy across the road, he already invited me."  
  
"Jerry -- you've met him then."  
  
"Yeah, seems an OK bloke."  
  
"He used to be in a gang -- down in LA. A real bad ass. Says he lost track of how many people he killed. Then, one day, he goes on a hit. Drive-by. There were some kids playing in the yard near the guy they were supposed to whack. Jerry blew the guy away with a shotgun -- and got a 3-year-old, 5- year-old and 7-year-old in the deal.  
  
"Then he came here."  
  
He's afraid now. This isn't right.  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"What do you think? You know what I am."  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
Marielle smiles. "Almost three hundred years of hunting, and killing, fighting, struggling, hiding. Finally, I just got tired. Couldn't do it any more."  
  
"Somebody put a chip in your head?"  
  
"Chip?"  
  
"Never mind."  
  
"I met Richie. He said I could stay. And that's all there is to it."  
  
"Oh God, don't tell me. I lost track of time out there on the highway. The sun came up and I dusted. This is hell."  
  
"Is this what you thought hell would be like?"  
  
"No... no, where I come from. That was hell."  
  
"Well, this isn't hell. And you're still alive -- as alive as our kind ever is."  
  
"What is this?"  
  
"A place where you can rest. Why don't you stay another night? Rosa's barbecue sauce is really worth the trouble."  
  
"And Richie wants to talk to me."  
  
"Yeah -- but later."  
  
"OK, I'll stay -- tonight."  
  
"Good." She smiles. 


	2. Part 2

Haven, Part 2  
  
By ElsaF  
  
There's a yard behind the motel. Strings of Christmas lights hang overhead glowing red, green and blue. The fragrance of roasting pork drifts from a charcoal grill. There are picnic tables spread with red checkered table clothes. He has a cold Colt 45 he picked out of an open ice chest. Jerry has set up a boom box and it plays '60s and '70s rock.  
  
Marielle isn't here yet. She said she had something to take care of first.  
  
They've been wandering over and introducing themselves. Rosa is a middle aged woman -- stocky and gray haired, her light brown skin weathered and finely wrinkled. She runs the cafe. Her smile warms him.  
  
Raul and Janet have a baby. Raul laughs as he tells how he went out in the middle of the night and repainted the sign to say "fourteen" just hours after little Enrique was born. Janet asks if he'd like to hold the baby. He's taken aback that anyone would trust a complete stranger so easily. They know what he is -- everyone does. He takes the blanket-wrapped child and holds it in the crook of his arm, looking down into the clear, blue eyes. He wiggles a finger and little Enrique grabs for it. The baby has a firm grip and giggles as he mock-wrestles with it. While he's holding the baby, Raul and Janet, freed for a moment from their burden, dance together, smiling into one another's eyes, hugging close and nuzzling.  
  
He feels a pang of longing as he watches the young couple -- they're so much in love. The baby gurgles and he bounces it a little. He touches its smooth cheek.  
  
The last of the humans to greet him is Father Gary. A priest. He wears a clerical collar. His fine gray hair frizzes out around his head. He shakes hands and comments on what a fine night it is. And he's right. The air is warm and the sky is clear. A million stars glitter overhead beyond the Christmas lights.  
  
The humans tell one another's stories. There is some unspoken rule that nobody has to confess, but no one's sins are secret.  
  
Jerry tells him that Rosa killed her children. Her husband cheated and she "went all Medea," he says. Janet tells him that Father Gary was a pedophile. He wonders whether they're going to trust him around their child. She looks at him as if the question was nonsense. Father Gary tells him that Janet and Raul killed Janet's family.  
  
"Her family was trying to keep them apart. He was a wetback. They weren't going to have their girl marrying an illegal alien," the priest says.  
  
The vampires introduce themselves gradually. There is Martin -- tall, gaunt and elegant in the Dracula style, with a short-cropped head of curly black hair. And Annabelle -- a tiny, shy creature with a soft, sweet voice. She's wearing a bright yellow sundress. Gordon is in demon face. Annabelle explains that it's stuck that way, then makes a little joke about his mother having warned him about that. Gordon snarls at her and she raises her fingers like claws. But it's all just friendly teasing. Gordon sweeps her into his arms and two go off to dance together.  
  
The other three vampires are brothers, Joe, John and Tom -- turned together, they tell him. They're fresh-faced farm boys -- stocky and muscular. He thinks those open, innocent faces must have been an advantage when they were hunting.  
  
Rosa brings him a paper plate sagging under its load of ribs. They're dripping with spicy-sweet sauce. It's deep red and it gets on his hands when he eats.  
  
He's looking for a napkin when Marielle shows up. She's traded her jeans and sweatshirt for a short black dress -- spaghetti straps and a little rhinestone pin over her heart. Her hair is swept up. He can't help but notice that she has great legs.  
  
"Is something the matter?"  
  
"Blood on my hands," he says, holding up his red-smeared fingers.  
  
"Smells more like Rosa's barbecue sauce to me," she says with a chuckle. She gets him a paper napkin.  
  
"Dance?" she asks him.  
  
Redbone's "Come and Get Your Love," is playing.  
  
Come and get your love, come and get your love, come and get your love. Yeah yeah, what's the matter with your head; Yeah yeah, what's the matter with your mind and your sign and oh yeah. How am I gonna get it, baby, gonna get my loving? Talk to me tell me how I'm gonna get it. I'm ready for you baby, ready for your loving. Don't make me wait cuz I really need to get it. Yeah yeah (Hey yeah) With it baby cuz you're fine and you're mine, and you look so divine.  
  
. They dance, but Marielle isn't cuddling up to him. She's just being friendly -- she doesn't want him. He's actually a little relieved at that. He doesn't want a woman right now. No, that's wrong. He does, but he'd rather not go there.  
  
"What's on your mind?"  
  
He looks down at her, surprised to hear her speak. He's been lost in his thoughts.  
  
"Um, nothing."  
  
"Don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she says kindly.  
  
"Too much to talk about, pet. Got a century to spare?"  
  
"That and more."  
  
"I guess I don't understand."  
  
"What?"  
  
"How everyone here can just forgive..."  
  
"Forgive? If you're looking for forgiveness you probably won't find it here. We don't hurt each other, and we don't judge each other. Forgiveness -- that's not on the menu."  
  
"But..."  
  
"What good does it do if I forgive you for the people you've killed? It was nothing to me. And the people you've killed -- they're beyond forgiving."  
  
"Not everyone I've hurt is dead."  
  
"Who knows if she'll ever forgive you?" Marielle says with a little shrug. "If she does, she'll feel better. But that's about her, not you."  
  
"You know?"  
  
"You are wearing that particular hurt so close to the surface that it might as well be written across your forehead."  
  
"You have the sight."  
  
Marielle nods. "Richie's teaching me to control it. It was driving me mad. Couldn't shut it off or direct it. And without any sort of empathy, it was just too annoying to bear. Richie's been teaching me about empathy, too. Not my best subject -- hey, I'm a vampire -- but I'm learning. That helps.  
  
"I try not to pry, but sometimes people's pain just floods me."  
  
"That's why you came to my room this morning."  
  
"Yeah. I couldn't sleep with you screaming that way."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"That's what's extraordinary about you. You really are. You should think about that some."  
  
He doesn't know what she means.  
  
"But don't brood on it. Doesn't do any good," she adds with a smile.  
  
"That's why you gave it up, isn't it?" he asks. "You could feel your victims' pain."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Did it just come to you suddenly? Wake up one night and everything's shite?"  
  
Marielle shakes her head. "No, it happened slowly -- over a couple of years. If it had hit me suddenly, I'd have just gone mad and destroyed myself."  
  
"Who, or possibly what, is Richie?"  
  
Marielle smiles. "He's a vampire. You did notice you've only met seven, didn't you?"  
  
"A vampire who calls himself Richie?"  
  
"No, that's what we call him. You'll see why. No idea what he calls himself."  
  
The music has changed. It's Ike and Tina Turner's "Proud Mary" now.  
  
"We can go see Richie now, if you like," she says.  
  
To be continued 


	3. Part 3

Haven, Part 3  
  
By ElsaF  
  
Marielle takes him to the house closest to the motel. It's an unimpressive place, one-story built of cement block with a tile roof. Inside, the furnishings seem to be scavenged. Everything is old, faded and frayed -- and nothing matches.  
  
There's a small kitchen and Marielle stops there and fills three chipped mugs from a bottle of pig's blood and warms them in the microwave. She puts them on a tray and motions for him to follow.  
  
She leads him to one of the bedrooms and knocks on the door.  
  
"Come."  
  
He sees why they call this vampire "Richie" immediately -- the face of a teenager, freckles, coppery red hair. The leader is wearing jeans and a Lakers T-shirt.  
  
But he also sees that the youthful appearance is deceptive. He can tell that this is a very old vampire. The aura of antiquity rolls off this one. He doesn't consider himself particularly sensitive to this sort of thing, but here it's unmistakable.  
  
He's intrigued. In his experience, the very old ones -- the ones who make it past the half-millennium mark -- tend to look less and less human. This vampire is the exception. He seems entirely human.  
  
"Welcome."  
  
Richie rises and walks over, facing his visitor. He walks a circle around him.  
  
"You're absolutely right, my dear," he says to Marielle. "You must learn to trust your impressions."  
  
"How could it be? The prophecies ..."  
  
Richie smiles. "My dear, you've forgotten the most important prophecy I've taught you.  
  
"And so it is written that things shall come to pass that have not been prophesied."  
  
He's a bit uncomfortable as Richie and Marielle discuss him as if he is deaf and blind.  
  
"Hello, still here," he says irritably.  
  
Marielle hands him one of the mugs and gives another to Richie.  
  
"Forgive me. I'm being rude," Richie says. "Sometimes I forget my social skills."  
  
Richie motions him to an easy chair and sits down cross-legged on a hassock himself.  
  
"What do you want?" Richie asks.  
  
He hesitates. He doesn't know, really. He decides to go with the least involved answer.  
  
"I want the pain to stop."  
  
Richie gives him a long look. He taps his lips with a finger and frowns.  
  
"Do you know what is causing the pain?"  
  
"This chip the friggin' government put in my head," he says, his voice trembling.  
  
Richie looks surprised and turns to Marielle. She senses what her mentor wants and comes over, looking intently into his eyes and holding her hands on either side of his head, a few inches from his bleach-blond hair.  
  
"There's something in there," she says at last. "Something unnatural. Sharp edges. Little jolts of electricity."  
  
Richie raises his eyebrows. "My, my. This is intriguing. Leave us."  
  
Marielle nods to Richie and leaves.  
  
Richie sits looking at him, as if he expects something to happen.  
  
"So, what's this all about?"  
  
"I'm trying to decide what I should tell you. It's not an easy question. I don't have a prophecy to rely on -- so I'm not entirely certain about how things are supposed to turn out. Tell you too much, and I could screw things up completely."  
  
"Great. So this is all just a bloody waste of time."  
  
"I hope not. I can't help you with your chip. I'm not very good at technology. Always have Marielle program the VCR. Can't even get that right. And Marielle is only a little better. She can work a microwave and dial a telephone, but I wouldn't want her around any machinery that could hurt someone.  
  
"But, actually, I don't think the chip is the root of your problem. It may be giving you headaches -- foreign object in your brain is liable to do that to you. But that's sort of an Excedrin Extra Strength sort of thing."  
  
"If it's not the chip, what is it?"  
  
Richie doesn't answer.  
  
"Why don't you try asking me something else."  
  
"What are you? I can tell you're very old. But you're not like any old vampire I've ever run into."  
  
"I am the road less traveled."  
  
"You decided not to be evil."  
  
"Not exactly. Evil -- such a vague term. I decided to stop destroying. The universe does not give us -- vampires -- the capacity to create. We are cut off from Brahma, the creator. So we think of ourselves as the hand of Shiva. We forget that there is a third path -- the way of Vishnu, the preserver. That's my thing.  
  
"That's why I think you're so interesting, by the way. There's a lot of Shiva and just a bit of Vishnu in you -- and that's to be expected. But you're the first vampire I've ever met who seemed to have any Brahma in him. I wonder whether that chip you hate so much unlocked it? Hard to say what's behind this.  
  
"You've created something. That's what's messing you up right now. Creation is incompatible with everything vampires are conditioned to be. You can cast it out -- and you'll be comfortable again. Or you can make it part of yourself. Who knows what that will lead to? And I haven't a clue to which one you're supposed to do.  
  
"Maybe what's happened to you is an aberration -- one of those random events that keeps the mechanism of the universe from being entirely predictable. Or maybe this is a really significant event -- something that is going to change everything."  
  
"Bollocks. The fate of the universe doesn't pivot on my arse."  
  
"Maybe, maybe not. If the beating of a butterfly wing can cause a hurricane on the other side of the planet, who knows what you could be responsible for."  
  
He buries his face in his hands in despair. "Then you can't help me."  
  
"I can't help you make the decision, no."  
  
"I think I'm losing my mind. I'm going to stay out and watch the sunrise any morning now."  
  
"I'm not surprised. Perhaps I can help you a little on that count. You're welcome to stay here a few days if you like. Ask Rosa for some of her herb tea. It should help with the headaches. And Marielle can help you get some rest. I think that's your most urgent need right now. You're exhausted. You've been fighting this thing to the point where you're worn thinner than Charity's chances of getting out of that block of ice."  
  
"You watch Passions?"  
  
"Yeah, you think Beth and Luis are going to find out about Sheridan?"  
  
"What if I just stay here?"  
  
Richie sighs. "I'm afraid that's not an option. Not that we wouldn't be tickled to have you. I think you'd fit in just fine with our little community. But this isn't your place.  
  
"This is the nowhere you've always heard about. I don't know where you belong, but I'm certain it's somewhere. You're on a journey. This is a rest stop. The road is still before you."  
  
------------  
  
Marielle is waiting for him outside.  
  
"Did he invite you to stay?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Pity. Oh well, Richie knows best."  
  
"Said I could stay a couple of days."  
  
"Good! It's always nice to have a new face around. We're all very fond of one another, but the conversation does get worn out after a while."  
  
She takes him by the hand. "Let's go for a walk."  
  
They walk out into the dessert beneath a moonless sky strewn with glittering jewels. There's a cool breeze that carries a clean scent of new foliage. The world is quiet except for a few insect clicks and chirps, and the faint sound of Jerry's boom box back at the barbecue. It's the Rolling Stones now.  
  
I saw her today at the reception. In her glass was a bleeding man. She was practiced at the art of deception; I could tell by her blood-stained hands.  
  
And you can't always get what you want, honey. You can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want, But if you try sometime, yeah, You just might find you get what you need!  
  
The End 


End file.
